


Two Messy Halves Colliding

by Diary



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Fail, Bisexual Jackson Whittemore, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Queer Character, Dark Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Holding Hands, Interspecies Romance, Kanima Venom, Kanima-Werewolf Jackson Whittemore, Late Night Conversations, Male Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Morally Ambiguous Character, POV Ethan (Teen Wolf), POV Male Character, POV Nonhuman, POV Queer Character, Past Abuse, Post-Season/Series 03, Romance, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: My take on how Ethan/Jackson got together featuring Ethan secretly being really into Jackson's tail, Jackson holding food hostage, and paralytic venom being used to aid in soul-bearing conversations. Complete.





	Two Messy Halves Colliding

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Standing in an alley with a murderous werewolf glaring at him, Ethan can too easily imagine Aiden’s disdain.

 _This wouldn’t have happened if I were still around_ , he can practically hear.

Yeah, well, you aren’t, is his bitter thought on the matter. The universe pays us all back, right? You could have handled my death, but I’m sucking at handling yours.

“Suicidal, are we?”

Until now, he only had the natural dislike inherent in the fact someone was trying to kill him against Jackson Whittemore, but now, Whittemore’s smug tone and lazily keen eyes-

Bringing his wolf eyes out, he produces his claws. “I’ll show you suicidal.”

…

So, Whittemore still has some kanima in him.

In Ethan’s opinion, Whittemore should have come at him with kanima eyes and the damn tail in the beginning, not blue eyes and normal werewolf claws.

Ethan, however, can’t express this opinion due to his mostly closed up throat.

Worse than not being able to talk is the position he’s in: Flat on his stomach, and Whittemore has just sat down on his back.

“So, you’re one of the ones who killed Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd trying to get to me. One of you dated my ex-girlfriend, and the other dated my human best friend. More accurately, you used both of them with a plan to kill them if they became a threat.”

If he could talk, he’d have something of a defence against the first. Deucalion wanted to ransom the two betas for Jackson. It hadn’t been any of their faults the Whittemore family had up and left in the middle of the summer or that, of course, Reyes and Boyd didn’t know this. After it was found out by Lahey, Deucalion decided to let Kali accept Reyes’s continual challenges.

Stupid, fearless beta, if she’d just stopped constantly trying to overpower them and screaming and hissing about how they were too cowardly to fight-

We never hurt Danny or Lydia, though true, likely wouldn’t pacify Whittemore.

“What in the hell are you doing in London? Still trying to find me?”

He manages to croak out, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Deucalion had tracked him down after Aiden’s death. He wasn’t interested in killing him or building a pack, but he did seem to feel he owed Ethan something. He gave him bank account numbers and ownership of property in the UK along with directions. ‘Everyone you’ve managed to piss off is more-or-less American based. Make allies there, Ethan. Perhaps, find a pack. Learn from the mistakes of the others and me and never betray the trust of someone you’ve earned it from or, more importantly, has freely decided to give it to you unless you truly feel it’s the only way. Even then, I’d recommend you think twice.’

Aware this says some bad things about him, he had stupidly taken Deucalion at his word. He hadn’t stopped to think about the fact, oh, yeah, Jackson Whittemore was likely still in the UK and would probably be keeping an ear out for anything involving the surviving former alpha pack members who once tried to find him.

 _Because, we’ve always been able to trust Deucalion_ , would be Aiden’s sarcastic condemnation on him finding himself in this position.

Claws tap against the back of his neck. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

He keeps quiet.

If Aiden were here- but Aiden isn’t.

Ironically, he used to be the one with something of a talent for talking them out of bad situations, not Aiden. Aiden was always just like Reyes, too quick to throw anything he could, be it words, claws, or just contemptuous looks. It was Ethan who’d listen and watch people and who could sometimes say the right thing to diffuse things.

Now, though, what is there to say? He’s paralysed aside from his hoarse voice, there’s no one around to hear him if he could scream, and Whittemore might not care much about Reyes and Boyd, though, maybe he does, but he sure as hell cared about Danny and Lydia. Hearing Danny was never interested in talking about the best friend who moved away and that Lydia was only too happy to screw Aiden in an effort to forget him would only make Whittemore determined to give him the most painful death manageable.

“Be that way, then.” Whittemore leans down, and Ethan will give him this: He has great taste in cologne and aftershave.

Make that toothpaste, too, as warm breath hits his cheek. “I don’t particularly care what you do. Danny and I haven’t spoken in a long time, and I know Lydia’s safe. But come near my parents, and I’ll kill you.”

He really, really, really should let it go here.

“You mean the human parents whose issues you had with were part of what turned you into the kanima in the first place?”

The bad thing is, he doesn’t even think Aiden would be proud of him, despite the fact it’s definitely the sort of thing Aiden himself would say.

There’s a pain in his lower back, and everything goes black.

…

Except, he wakes up.

He’s in the exact same spot Whittemore left him, and he can tell Whittemore didn’t do anything to him. Even if Whittemore took his wallet or phone, he didn’t physically do anything to him.

Gingerly pulling himself up, he finds, no, Whittemore didn’t take his phone or wallet.

For all he knows, Whittemore intended him to die helpless, unconscious, and alone, but he didn’t, is the important thing.

…

He doesn’t know why he stays in London, but he does.

For several months, everything’s fine. He knows, eventually, the money will run out, and so, he lives as frugally as possible. His one indulgence is going to a nearby nightclub every few weeks to dance. It’s easy enough to find dance partners of both genders, and he’s flirted with a few men, but he hasn’t gotten to the point where’s gone home with any of them.

Then, one night he goes in, and his senses immediately hone in on Whittemore.

Lydia Martin effortlessly oozed sexuality. It could be sharp and captivating or soft and persuasively inviting. If he had ever had any sort of sexual interest in women, he would have easily found himself wanting her as bad as Aiden did.

Her ex-boyfriend, it turns out, is the exact same way.

Whittemore looks good in his button down shirt and jeans, and he knows it. Right now, he’s having a fun dance with a man who wants to release some stress but doesn’t want sex, but a minute ago, he was practically getting down and dirty with a woman who is definitely looking for someone to either go home with or take home.

Slipping out of the club, he goes to a nearby bridge and slides his legs behind the railing. There are still the occasional drivers and pedestrians who freak out, but he’s managed to convince the nearby police he’s not suicidal, he just likes swinging his legs above the water and looking at the moon.

Once, when he and Aiden were little, before their wolves started manifesting, there was this cliff near wherever they were at the time, and Aiden would always tug him up on it. They’d dangle their feet above the ground below, and Aiden would insist he point out different star constellations. Aiden never cared enough to learn them for himself, but he’d get irritated if Ethan tried to refuse showing him.

He tenses when Whittemore sits down next to him.

“I’m never going to trust or like you. In fact, I’d be happy to kill you if you gave me a reason. That said, I’m afraid to have sex with a human, you’re hot, and you feel the same about me. If you come to my place, I promise, I’ll only try to kill you if you attack first. What do you say?”

Oh, hell yes, is his instinctive reaction.

“What if I say no?”

Whittemore shrugs. “Sex isn’t a necessity. Eventually, I’ll find some other amoral shifter or other supernatural person. And I’ll leave you alone. You could ask Lydia, for all I was willing, I was never pushy.”

“My brother died recently. That’s not me saying no. I’m just- warning you, I guess. I’d like to, but I don’t know for sure what’ll happen once the clothes come off. Or I guess, more accurately, what might not happen.”

There’s a vague, general pity from Whittemore at the words, but otherwise, he doesn’t care. Ethan can tell his opinion of Ethan hasn’t changed.

It’s refreshing, he realises. He lost his brother, and he wants people to feel bad for Aiden having lost his life, though, he knows, anyone who knew Aiden doesn’t, aside from Lydia, but he doesn’t want anyone to feel bad for him.

“In that case, I won’t kick you out, but you’re taking the guestroom or couch. In fact, even if we do, if you want to stay after, you’re still taking one of them. I’m not afraid of having you in the same building, including in a nearby room, but I’d be an idiot to fall asleep with you in the same bed.”

“Likewise,” he says. Standing, he offers his hand.

Not taking it, Whittemore stands. “Quickest way to my flat is a cab ride.”

“Let’s go.”

…

He’s not sure what exactly he was expecting, but by midnight, he almost finds himself grateful towards Whittemore.

He didn’t think of Aiden, and it turns out, Whittemore is really good. Everything felt good, it was fun, and the normal, expected awkwardness didn’t stop it from being easy.

Knowing he’s going to have to leave soon, he traces Jackson’s chest. “Don’t knock me unconscious for this. It’s not an attack, just a genuine question: Where are your parents? I mean, I’m not asking for their location. They don’t live here. Why?”

“They’re nearby. I’m going to university, and this place is closer than theirs.”

Ethan kisses him. “I’m never going to trust or like you, either, but in complete sincerity: Thank you for tonight. It meant more than you can probably understand.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jackson watches him as he props himself up, finds his underwear, and slipping them on, finds the rest of his clothes.

…

He’d consider it a win if this was the last he saw of Jackson Whittemore.

He knows better than to ever have sex with him again. Deucalion had warned him and Aiden to be careful when it came to Lydia and Danny.

‘Of course, friends can have sex without deeper feelings developing, and of course, people can have enjoyable sex with complete strangers. However, there is a bit of truth to there being an extra danger of falling when sex is added to the mix. There’s often more intimacy and vulnerability in it than some realise. And once you start craving that intimacy and vulnerability, once you fully welcome it, well, then, it can become much easier to want to extend both to other parts of your life with the person making you feel this way.’

The universe as established, however, is not going to let him have a win, and he ends up coming back from a run to find Jackson has broken into Deucalion’s apartment (flat, as the snooty doorwoman had informed him when he first moved in) and immediately slaps him down with the tail.

Out loud, he is never going to say anything about the tail other than ‘gross’, ‘disgusting’, and ‘figures an abomination would have such a thing’.

In the privacy of his own head, however, he’ll admit the tail is freaking awesome, and if he actually liked Jackson and had some sort of relationship with him, he’d try to convince him to go on moonlit walks where he held the tail in his hand or it was wrapped around his wrist. The idea of sleeping with it slung across him-

Aiden would not only tell him how incredibly messed up he is, his brother might legitimately decide to kill him.

“A werewolf attacked the restaurant my parents were eating at.”

“Good for them?”

He’ll admit, the response is nonsensical, at best, and a cruel taunt, at worst, but to him, they were obviously the first, and therefore, the tail strangling the neck of his now paralysed body is unfair overkill.

…

When he wakes up, he’s handcuffed with electrified cuffs to the kitchen sink.

On the plus side, Whittemore still didn’t do anything physically to him.     

“Okay,” he says. “Look.” He tries and fails to sit up. “I don’t know where your parents live. You never told me, and I never tried to find out. I don’t know what restaurant they were at or when this happened. All I know is, I haven’t attacked any restaurants. Ever.”

“Funny how you haven’t asked if they’re alright.”

“I don’t care.”

He’s aware this was the exact wrong thing to say, but well, it’s not as if he could convince Whittemore he does. He and Aiden always knew they were going to be wolves someday, and so, they never cared for humans even when they were technically humans themselves. Danny was the first human he ever cared for, and he’ll probably be the last, too. He thinks, if Lydia ever needs him, provided there’s a good chance he’ll come out alive, he’ll have to help her for Aiden’s sake, but even then, it’ll be due to his brother rather than her herself.

Suddenly, he remembers she’s a banshee. Her not being a shifter doesn’t mean she’s human.

He’s never particularly cared for other supernatural people, either; he’s just felt a little more connected to them than humans.

“Hmm.”

Then, Jackson is reaching over. “Unfortunately, I believe you. I guess this means you owe me. Careful, though, because, when you come to collect, I’ll fight anyway I can.”

Picking up the handcuffs, Jackson walks out.

…

The smart thing to do would be to get the hell out of the UK. Take Deucalion’s money and go to some non-English speaking country where he’s unlikely to find anyone associated with the Hales or anyone in McCall’s pack.

Aiden was always the smarter of them. Where he could do okay in English and language-based subjects, Aiden genuinely liked math and science and had an artistic side he mostly tried to hide. 

Sometimes, he wonders, if they’d ever had a decent home, or if they’d been able to find a proper pack once they manifested their wolves: Would Aiden have graduated college by now and be doing something like Ethan imagines Lydia will soon be doing? Would he have met Lydia later on, developed a happy, healthy relationship with her because they liked and complemented one another? Would he himself someday be an uncle? Would Aiden have let his artistic side come through and be less bitter and angry at the world and more likely to channel his frustrations into art people fell in love with?

Whatever this says about him, instead of doing the smart thing, he starts what could probably be classified as stalking Jackson.

The Whittemores are okay. They worry about and love their son, and as much as Jackson clearly loves them back, he keeps a healthy emotional distance from them.

Jackson, he also discovers, is either completely boring, or he knows he’s being watched.

Aside from going to the nightclub, Jackson goes to classes, volunteers at a local library, takes a cooking class, goes to the gym every day, and stays home the rest of the time.

One day, he notices he’s not the only one watching Jackson. Hunters are, too. Or maybe they’re watching him, but he really hopes Jackson is the target.

Instead of following Jackson, he follows the Whittemores.

Hunters are also trailing them, despite the fact they’re clearly human. For one thing, Mrs Whittemore still has an opening on her finger from when a rose pricked it when she was gardening, but for another, there are so many easy, inconspicuous ways to test the two.

Either the hunters will soon, or they already have. If they have, then, continuing to follow them means there’s a good chance they’re planning to use two humans to try to get the werewolf kanima.

 _For the love of God, don’t even think about getting involved_ , he can imagine Aiden’s exasperation.

Aiden wasn’t religious, but he did believe there were some kind of deities out there.

He, on the other hand, has always been either agnostic or atheistic. He wouldn’t be surprised if Aiden were right, but until he’s given solid proof, he’s not going to agree with anyone who proclaims there are.

Sighing, he knocks on the Whittemore door.

Mrs Whittemore answers. “Yes?”

“Hi, Mrs Whittemore. I don’t think we’ve ever met, but I know your son, Jackson.” He gives Jackson’s address and flat number. “Unfortunately, he wasn’t there earlier, and I need to talk to him, but I just got a new phone. Do you think you could give me his number? Or call him for me? Oh, sorry, by the way, I’m Ethan,” and he gives the surname he used when he and Aiden enrolled at Beacon Hills.

Beaming, she shakes his hand. “Of course. Would you like to come in?”

Seriously, he thinks. What kind of woman invites a total stranger in during this day and age? Especially a man? Even if he does have a semi-plausible excuse for why he’s randomly showing up?

He’s not sure, but he finds it hard to imagine Melissa McCall would do such a thing. Most likely, she’d ask why he didn’t just email her son or ask a bunch of other questions about how exactly he knows him.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“David, honey, a friend of Jackson’s is here!”

Mr Whittemore comes out from his study, and taking his reading glasses off, he smiles. “It’s always nice to meet a friend of Jackson’s. Hi, David Whittemore, and this is my wife...”

He realises she didn’t introduce herself a minute ago, and he’s sure, if there wasn’t a good chance Marin was right about him being borderline sociopathic, he’d find them to be lovely people, but the contemptuous thought, You can’t introduce yourself? It’s the 21th century, what kind of woman needs her husband to introduce her, and what kind of man still wants a wife like that?, is there.

After some more small talk, he gets Jackson’s number.

“Are you going to Oxford with him?”

_This is Ethan. I’m at your parents’._

“Oh, no. Uh, college isn’t for me. I know Jackson from America. Well, actually, I met him here, but- After he moved, my foster family took me and my brother to Beacon Hills, and I dated Danny Mahealani for a few months before we moved again.”

Jackson bursts in, and ignoring the way the Whittemore’s jump, he's glad to see Jackson’s clawed hands are in his pockets, and there’s no sign of his tail or either wolf or kanima eyes.

“Hey, Jackson,” he keeps his hands visible and subtly steps away from them, “remember that book about those supernatural hunters who were following the human parents of that abominable lizard creature you told me about? I decided I’d like to borrow it.”

Jackson stares, and he keeps steady eye contact.

Then, Jackson smiles. “You might be in luck. I think I have it in my room here. Mom, Dad, you both okay?”

Hugs and kisses are exchanged, and Jackson drags him to his room.

Inside, he’s not surprised to find himself shoved against the wall.

“I was following you, not them, when I noticed the hunters. There’s three of them. One’s a black guy, the other two are women. One of the women has a prosthetic leg, and the guy’s borderline anaemic. Want to know what weapons they’re all carrying?”

“Cute,” Jackson mutters. “If you somehow bit my parents-”

He flashes his blue eyes.

“Oh, right. I forgot. You aren’t an alpha, anymore.”

“And you’re only an abominable lizard with some wolf in him, not a human being turned into one and controlled by a sixteen-year-old kid. If I ever become an alpha again, I promise you, I won’t care about your parents enough to ever go near them. But if you ever get taken over again, how do you know they won’t be your next victims?”

It turns out, hitting this particular spot and causing genuine hurt doesn’t feel good at all.

He’d really thought it would.

Scoffing, Jackson moves away.

“Look, because of this, I’m likely on their radar now, too. I do owe you for not killing me or doing bad things when I was unconscious, but if you don’t want my help, I’m sure as hell not going to beg. I’m not really what you’d call a guy who places a lot of importance on honouring debts. So, I can either help you trap them and figure out what their goal is, and then, what to do with them, or I can get out of dodge. Your call.”

Jackson considers his words for several minutes.

“I could probably use help.”

“Okay. Now, how do we get past your stupid parents without more inane chitchat?”

Glaring, Jackson grits out, “Once we get these hunters sorted, I owe you for that.”

“Bring it.”

…

For hunters, these three suck.

They get them handcuffed in an abandoned building, and Jackson finds a rafter to swing by his tail from.

Ethan will never admit how cool he finds this.

“I’ve dealt with Argents before,” Jackson says. “Most of them were pathetic, but none of them were this pathetic.” He says something in Spanish, and only one of them has any idea what he’s saying.

“These two,” he gestures, “aren’t Calaveras. They didn’t understand you. This one, I don’t know, but she definitely had some idea what you were saying.”

Defiantly, the huntress in question hurls Spanish at them.

“What’s she saying?”

“Oh, the usual, we’re sin made manifest, we should all die, I’m assuming she means all supernatural people, by that, you know, the usual. Her accent sucks, though.”

“Oh,” he says. “This one, he didn’t appreciate that, at all.”

“Huh, I wonder why? We’ve established he doesn’t speak Spanish, and therefore, he’s not likely to know whether her accent is good or bad. That probably means he objected to her personally being insulted. Got a little crush there? Or is she your wife? A sister? Bestie from pre-k? You’re too close in age to be father and daughter.”

“That’s interesting. There was definitely a reaction from all three at that, but what exactly, I don’t know. We know neither of them is pregnant. Wonder if any of them have kids, though.”

The non-Spanish speaking huntress’s vitals go haywire.

“No need to tell me,” Jackson says. “I caught that one loud and clear.” Jumping down from the rafter, he stares at her. “Believe me, I genuinely hate the idea of potentially orphaning a kid, but hey, gotta look out for me. I will promise you: Unless the day comes any kid of yours comes after me, I’m never going to go near them. I don’t have any problem with them just because their mom is a pathetic, bigoted hunter.”

She doesn’t believe him, but- the other woman does. If the man can be convinced, too-

“Look, your plan of interrogating and trying to hammer out peace isn’t going to work. I don’t see any choice but to kill them. I can get some drugs easily enough, and add some with your kanima venom, and we throw them in the lake. If their bodies are ever found, it’ll be gone by then. There’ll probably be traces of the drugs left, though. So, either suicidal or just stupidly whacked out, some jumpers ended up drowning. No one’s going to waste time launching a full investigation past trying to find relatives. Even other hunters will likely assume they brought it on themselves, no supernatural creatures involved.”

There’s a beat.

“Works for me,” Jackson says. “We shouldn’t do them all at once, though. I can look up statistics for when men and women are most likely to jump and see if there’s a significant difference between when white people and people of colour jump.”

“Again, I really doubt anyone will care enough to establish exact time of death. This one,” he nods to the mother, “weighs the least. We do her, first, then, the senorita, and we save the big guy for nightfall. We dump from different spots.”

“Wait,” the Spanish-speaking one says in English. “How do we know, if we talk, you’ll let us go?”

Jackson kneels down. “My biological parents died before I was born. Those parents you were following earlier? They’re great, but I’ll never truly be their son. Again, I genuinely hate the thought of this one’s kid or kids being without their mom. But there’s no question I’m going to put the two people who gave me a home over some unknown kid who might grow up to try to kill me one day. Neither of us are threats to humans. Or at least, I’m not. Me and him, we’re not really friends.”

“I’ve never killed a human,” he interjects.

It’s the truth, Jackson can tell it’s the truth, and it honestly wasn’t his intention to hurt or anger with the statement, but Jackson hates him for this fact.

He remembers being told about all the human people Daehler had Jackson kill.

“If hunters leave me and, most importantly, my parents alone, I don’t care what they do. They can go after any other supernatural people they want. So, convince me that you can be trusted, and I’ll be glad to let you go instead of having to deal with getting pills down your throat or sterilising needles and finding a vein. I’d rather not risk getting stopped with a paralysed person in my car, because, I still have trouble sometimes with the differences in traffic laws here. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to avoid CCTV while I’m dropping your bodies in the Thames? I mean, trust me, I can do it, but it’s not my idea of a fun time.”

The mother mutters something about how some other lake, not the Thames, is closest and something about how they clearly don’t know the difference between lakes and rivers.

“Really?” is Jackson’s response.

“Kid’s probably needed a lot of help with geography lately,” he suggests. “Well, I hope he or she or they have a dad in the picture or caring loved ones to look after them.”

“They have their mother. Sit down both of you, and let’s, as you said, hammer out peace.”

The man protests, the three argue, and eventually, he and Jackson sit down out of reach so they can all talk.

…

It turns out one of the big hunter families, the Dixons, thought Jackson might have been responsible for the death of one of the relatives of someone he did kill as a kanima. He proves he wasn’t, they let the hunters go, and somehow, Ethan ends up having dinner at the Whittemore house.

Later, as they’re driving to Jackson’s flat, he says, “I say we kill them anyways. It wouldn’t be too hard to track them back down.”

“No.”

He shrugs.

“By the way-”

“Don’t thank me,” he says. “My brother was way smarter than me. If it was him, he’d’ve been smart and been gone long before any of this happened.”

“What was his name?”

“Aiden.”

“Identical or fraternal?”

“Identical.” He hesitates. “Except-” He rolls up his right sleeve. “His was on his left arm.”

Jackson glances over. “Scars?”

“Do you know what it takes for a werewolf to get a tattoo?”

“Yeah. Derek told me a little about pack tattoos. No way was I getting a triskelion burned into my skin, though. Was that what used to be there?”

“Sort of,” he answers. “If our parents were alive, neither of them wanted us. We were in the system since birth, and the only good thing was the fact we were never separated. Somehow, though, we knew we were going to be wolves someday. When that day came, we ran away from all humans and tried to find a werewolf family. A pack.”

Don’t tell him, part of him warns. Don’t.

“In a way, we did. This pack gave us limited exclusion in exchange for being able to do terrible things to us. They protected us from worser things, so.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t Deucalion. He’s not the reason, I mean. One day, we were pushed too far, and we killed them all, including the alpha. Him, we weren’t sure if it’d work or not, but we decided we’d both stick our claws in his neck at the exact same time.”

“When it was over, we both had red eyes. I’m not saying we were innocent, but we were so young that we weren’t exactly trying to think long-term. Basically, we went around terrorising other supernatural people. And worse. Deucalion caught us, got us to sort of see sense, and we became part of his pack.”

Jackson doesn’t condemn him, he can tell.

Danny would have, and this was part of the reason he trusted Danny.

They get to the apartment building.

“Want to come in?”

“Yeah,” he answers.

…

He and Jackson having sex becomes a regular thing.

He can all too clearly imagine both Aiden and Deucalion shaking their heads and looking at him with hard, disbelieving eyes.

If everything would stay the same, he thinks he could be happy. Even with the fact the money will someday run out, he has enough to last him literal years, especially if he keeps living frugally. He’s getting fantastic sex on a regular basis. No one is trying to kill him.

He learned early that nothing ever stays the same. The one thing he was sure would always be constant, him and Aiden being together, even this eventually changed.

Something tells him change is due to come any day now, but right now, he’s too busy fighting against sleep to worry about it. Jackson’s typing on his laptop with papers spread out over the bed, and after what Jackson did before getting the homework out, everything is fuzzy, warm, and vaguely tingly inside.

Still, he doesn’t trust Jackson to be in the same building, let alone the same bed, with him when he’s sleeping.

Up, he tells himself. Need to get up, now.

Jumping a little, he finds himself staring at Jackson’s buzzing phone.

“Thanks a lot,” Jackson grumbles. “I just got those colour-coordinated.” Grabbing the papers Ethan accidentally knocked on the floor, he presses answer on his phone. “Hey, Mom.”

As Jackson is talking, Ethan gets dressed and slips out.

…

One night, Jackson wants to get some ice-cream from a nearby convenience store.

He wonders if convenience stores are called something different here. No doubt, the snobby doorwoman would feel she absolutely must tell him, in detail, the answer.       

They go to the bridge near the nightclub, slide their legs between the railing, and pass their containers between one another. He’d gotten Rocky Road, and Jackson had gotten Strawberry Banana.

He’d been tempted to get chocolate chip mint, but he and Aiden had both loved it, whereas, Aiden had hated Rocky Road, but he’d never minded it.

“Do you ever feel guilty about killing Erica and Boyd?”

The words are quiet, but they manage to echo off the passing cars.

“I didn’t,” he says. “Well, I helped kill Boyd, but that was after he planned to kill us, first. He and the others could have left Derek to fend for himself. We wouldn’t have cared about omegas. Reyes kept challenging us. None of us but Kali cared, but- eventually, Deucalion let Kali take her up on it. Formerly epileptic, sixteen-year-old girl who’d just become a beta thought she had any chance at all against an alpha and a born wolf, at that.”

“What about the other people you’ve killed? Do you ever feel guilty over them?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“I feel guilty all the time.”

After a stretch of silence, Jackson continues, “Thanks for not saying, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’ Lydia said it a few times. Whether it was or wasn’t, it still feels like it.”

“Someday, I’m going to find an alpha to kill,” he announces. “I’m going to be one, again.”

“That’s still important to you?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do, then? Build a pack?”

“No. I’m just going to be the strongest type of werewolf there is, and this time, I won’t lose my spark. All my life, my brother and I wanted to be strong, so that we could finally be safe. I know now that there’s no safety. But I can still be strong.”

“What about Deucalion, then?”

“I doubt I could take him. He trained us. Before he found us, we could fight, but honestly, it was mostly luck that we kept managing to survive. He taught us proper fighting techniques, survival skills, and even how to think strategically. Aiden was always better at the last.”

Suddenly, Jackson’s tail is taking the spoonful of ice-cream out of his hands.

“Hey!”

Grinning, Jackson laughs. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want that?”

Before he can answer, Jackson has taken the carton, too.

“Here’s the deal: My parents are worried about my seeming lack of a social life. So, I told them a friend would be joining us for our weekly Saturday dinner. Even though you and I aren’t and will never be friends, want to score some free food? And be given some of the ice-cream back?”

“Seriously? You’re holding the ice-cream of an omega you once almost killed for going near your parents hostage to get him to agree to have dinner with said parents?”

“First, you will win any competition of who is more pathetic. Just trust me. You will always be the more pathetic of us. Second, I pushed you against a wall. That’s nowhere near trying to kill you. Third, we can have some fun in my bedroom while my parents are doing the dishes,” Jackson says with a smirk.

“Next time, start with that instead of stealing my ice-cream.”

“That mean you’re in?”

Kissing Jackson, he swipes the ice-cream. “I’m in.”

…

Dinner with Jackson’s parents becomes a thing.

Jackson rants about the current state of American politics, even though Ethan doesn’t see why it matters what with the fact neither of them is living there anymore. Somehow, he ends up coming to Deucalion’s apartment on occasion, and one night, he stares. “Seriously, I know this isn’t you. When are you going to start making this place yours?” He’s decided getting what he wants and winning arguments can be done by holding food hostage, and Ethan has yet to be able to successfully retake any stolen food, thereby, making the strategy a sound one for the time being.

None of this had sent any warning bells, but it definitely should have, because, now, he suddenly finds himself wide-awake in Jackson’s bed with Jackson’s tail draped across his body.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

They’d both been tired. He’d woken in the morning thinking about Aiden, and he’d literally spent the entire day running. Jackson had had three tests and gotten into some long argument with an idiot classmate.

Half-hearted blowjobs hadn’t done anything for either of them, and his laying out why he wouldn’t be helping with any plans involving throwing the non-hunter classmate paralysed into the river or just engaging in some bathtub waterboarding had resulted in them watching some movies on Jackson’s laptop.

Now, the laptop has been put up, he’s in Jackson’s bed with the wonderful feeling of Jackson’s tail resting lightly on him, and Jackson is sleeping soundly next to him.

He cautiously turns his head.

Jackson is on his stomach with his head turned towards the window.

Oh, God, what have I done, he wonders.

He wants to turn on his side and wrap around Jackson. He wants to curl his hand around the tail. He wants to bury his nose in Jackson’s neck.

It’s highly unlikely Jackson put the laptop up via sleepwalking, though, someone retaking control of Jackson would be easier to deal with than this. No, Jackson must have put it up and, likely due to his own exhaustion, decided he didn’t care enough to kick Ethan out or go to the couch or guestroom himself. He must have decided he didn’t believe he couldn’t handle any threat Ethan might pose.

This doesn’t mean Jackson would ever trust him enough to-

More importantly, Jackson hasn’t hurt him tonight, but he knows, if Jackson ever decides to- he knows there is a chance Jackson might decide to, if given the opportunity. Jackson has vague protective instincts towards non-hunter humans, and it’s probably the same with innocent supernatural people, but he doesn’t fit the latter. He’s personally killed people Jackson knew, and even if Jackson didn’t particularly like them, he clearly doesn’t like the fact they’re dead.

Taking a quiet breath, he cautiously touches the tail.

It moves a bit, but Jackson stays sound asleep.

Carefully slipping out of bed, he leaves.

…

He decides the best way to handle this is to cancel Saturday night dinner via text, go to the club, and find some guy to go home with.

As the pain of his back hitting the alley wall reverberates through him and he eyes the tail hovering dangerously close to his neck, he realises no, this actually wasn’t the best way to handle things.

“I don’t care who you screw, but all that worry I was slowly chipping away by having a new best friend has all come back now because of you doing this. You know better than to do anything to hurt my parents.”

He does feel guilty, but he’s more focused on the brief change in vitals.

“Say that again.”

Doing something of a double-take, Jackson’s eyes turn back to human blue. “You heard every word I said.”

“Yeah, but you slipped up, didn’t you? If not, say that part about this not being about who I screw, again.”

If looks alone could kill, Jackson would be the most dangerous person on the planet.

“I don’t.”

He laughs. “Right. You do, don’t you? If I cancelled because I was having a bad day with memories of Aiden, hell, even if I cancelled because I just wanted to see some movie, you might be pissed, but- tell me, how does it feel to think about someone else touching me? Me touching them?”

A growl fills the air.

“Thought so. You’re jealous, which means that some part of you cares about me. Which also means,” he pushes the tail and hands away, “pushing me against the wall is the worst you’re going to do. I’m leaving, now.”

Pushing past, he stops when he hears, “You slipped up, too.”

Jackson comes over. “You think I don’t see how you look at me sometimes? I still remember the first time you laid down on your stomach.”

It’s supposed to be a warning, but it comes out more pleading than he’d like when he says, “Don’t.”

“There was practically this small taste of fear in the air, but when I started to back away, you reached behind and grabbed my hand. Insisted it was okay. And hey, guess what? It was. Didn’t take long at all until all there was, was pleasure and begging for more. You know, if you’ve ever wondered, it took four times. The fourth time, that tiny bit of fear wasn’t there at all.”

“Oh, but I’m going to keep going.” He grabs Ethan’s hand before Ethan can break into a run. “You insisted on bringing my mom flowers when she had that cold. That time when I had to wear a tie, you redid it, because, you didn’t like the way I put it on. And,” Jackson stares straight into his eyes, “a few days ago, you fell asleep in my bed. You were gone by morning, but you didn’t even stir when I laid down beside you and kissed your forehead.”

He had been doing a good job at not thinking about most of this, and he’s angry Jackson has forced him to.

More than this, he’s scared.

The thing is, though, just like Jackson isn’t going to go farther than pushing him into a wall and possibly whacking him with his tail, he can’t do anything that would actually hurt Jackson, either.

“Okay, so, I like you. More than I should. But me not trusting you is never going to change.”

To his surprise, Jackson gives a nonchalant shrug. “As if that has to be a barrier for either of us.” Moving closer, Jackson puts his hand on Ethan’s neck, and he manages to keep his reaction to a tiny flinch.

Jackson starts to move it, but reaching back, he wraps his hand around Jackson’s wrist to keep it in place, and so, if Jackson does try to hurt him, he’ll be somewhat prepared.

“Lydia and I were two stupid, emotionally stunted kids. Sure, she’s a genius, and my GPA was above a 4.0, but we both thought, were sure, even, that what people saw when they looked at us and our relationship was more important than who we actually were and how we felt about each other. You think there was any true, deep trust in a relationship like that?”

“And you, Danny was your first real relationship, wasn’t he? Putting aside the fact you were ordered to get close to him because he used to be friends with me, you hid the fact you were a werewolf from him, and then, it turned out he already knew. Sure sounds like a lot of trust to me.”

“Yeah, this is one of those things where you do have a point, but it’s missing the point you’re trying to make by a mile,” he says.

“My point is, we both loved them. We both had good, happy times with them. You and I, let’s face it, there’s a good chance one or both of us is going to majorly screw the other over one day. But we could be happy and have some good times until then. I’ve been happier, less lonely, and not focused on my guilt so much since I started getting to actually know you. I think it’s the same for you. Am I wrong?”

Ethan kisses him.

When it breaks, he presses his forehead against Jackson’s. “I’m sorry for missing dinner.”

“Oh, no, you’re still coming,” Jackson declares. “I made up a story about you having trouble finding some book at the library. We’re swinging by your place, you’re changing and grabbing some random book, and we’re staying to play board games, watch TV, whatever my parents want so that, hopefully, when we leave, their worry for me will be back down to the level it was before.”

He laughs. “Okay.”

“And also, FYI, you’ll be sorry if you touch anyone but me while we’re together.”

Tentatively, he interlocks his fingers with Jackson’s, and when Jackson gives his hand a small squeeze and doesn’t pull away, he responds, “Same here. Just you and me, right?”

“Sounds good.” 

Yeah, he reflects, it really does.

…

He knows he needs to learn to be satisfied.

There really isn’t much more he can realistically get, and what he has is great: A boyfriend he can fall asleep next to, plenty of money, no one trying to kill him, and a significant amount of free food from his boyfriend’s nice parents.

He has to sometimes remember not to kiss or hold Jackson’s hand in front of said parents, but other than the occasional irritation, he doesn’t mind this.

There are other things he wants more. He wants to hold Jackson in bed at night, he wants to be held by him, he wants to bury his nose in Jackson’s neck and put his hand on the back of it so badly.

What makes it so bad is he knows, now, he probably could. If he rolled over and wrapped around Jackson or asked Jackson to hold him, at most, Jackson would make a smart-ass remark. Provided he somewhat telegraphed his actions, he could do what Jackson does to him and put his hand on the back of Jackson’s neck. If he asked, Jackson might be uneasy, confused, and/or bearing more smart-ass remarks, but Jackson would probably let him bury his nose in Jackson’s neck.  

But he can’t.

Those things, they mean something.

Jackson’s never had any fear when it comes to lying on his own stomach, and if Jackson has any suspicions about why he did those first three times, thankfully, he’s never voiced them. Right up until his death, the only person Aiden ever willingly let touch the back of his neck was Lydia. Growing up, they often ended up pressed and wrapped against one another, and Aiden was the only one he could be sure would never hurt him or try anything else, especially when he was sleeping.

Danny, it was safe to press and rub his nose against Danny’s neck. Danny liked it but didn’t have the urge to do it back, he knew he wasn’t going to hurt Danny, and he’d thought Danny had no idea how easily he could kill via the neck. For all he knows, Danny didn’t. A human knowing werewolves exist doesn’t mean they necessarily understand everything about werewolves.

Interrupting his thoughts, Jackson comes in. “Hey, still want to kill an alpha?”

He closes his laptop. “What?”

Flopping down on the bed, Jackson finds his hand and links their fingers. “Yeah. I got an email from Derek about this pack terrorising a village in York. So, I’m thinking, road trip? We can stop them, keep Derek from setting foot in this country, and make you an alpha again all-in-one.”

“Sure,” he answers.

…

A little later, he finds himself thinking all sorts of different thoughts about the idea.

He starts to slip out of bed, and Jackson’s tail wraps around his wrist.

Mumbling, Jackson rolls over. “Bathroom or sneaking out?”

“I don’t think I’m going to sleep anytime soon, so, I’m going to head back over to my place.”

The tail doesn’t let go. “You can say no to stop the pack. Just,” he yawns, “sleep.”

“I’m not saying no. I’m not saying anything other than-”

“Alright, well, I’m up,” Jackson grumbles. The tail releases his wrist, and Jackson sits up.

Unfortunately, though still grumpy, Jackson is now completely awake.

“I was trying to avoid this. I wanted you to get a good night’s sleep.”

Jackson shrugs. “Look, I don’t want to be an alpha. I never have. I promise, I won’t steal your chance to kill her.”

“It wouldn’t matter. If you did, I could just kill you.”

Scoffing, Jackson gives him a soft look. “If you think this is too risky, we-”

“Alright, look, I’m about to do something crazy. It’s not something I particularly want to do, but in this instance, could you just trust me?”

Raising an eyebrow and tilting his head, “I’ll try,” is all Jackson is willing to say.

“Good enough.”

He looks down. Jackson usually sleeps in pyjama bottoms, and most nights, including tonight, he only wears his underwear to bed.

Might as well go all in, he decides.

“Show me your kanima claws.”

Based on how wary Jackson is, Ethan thinks he might refuse, but producing them, Jackson slowly holds his hands up.

Easing down onto his stomach, he reaches up and pricks his fingers on the claws.

As the venom immediately begins flooding through him, he regrets absolutely everything about this decision.

“Okay,” Jackson says. “So we’re clear, when people talk about insane omegas, you’re what they have in mind.”

He feels Jackson getting off the bed, and he pulls up every memory of Aiden he can. He can get through this, he can get through this, he can-

“I’m rolling you onto your back." He’s rolled over, and Jackson continues, “I’m putting your pants on first but leaving them unbuttoned.” Then, “I’m doing your shirt.” And, “I’m turning your head before I turn on the lights so they won’t get in your eyes.”

Sitting on the bed, Jackson sighs. “And now, I’m turning your head this way.”

When Jackson does, he sees Jackson has slipped on a t-shirt, too.

“Can you talk, yet?”

“A little,” he hoarsely whispers.

“Are we going to talk about what brought this on?”

“Everything itches. Scratch me with your tail?”

The tail starts slowly moving up and down his body, and the feeling of it helps take his mind off the fact he can’t move.

“I- What do you trust me on, and what don’t you? I don’t exactly know where my trust for you begins and ends?”

“I’m not deflecting, but before I answer, answer me this: Was it really necessary to paralyse yourself for this conversation?”

“I didn’t do it for the conversation. I- can’t really explain why.”

“I’m so shipping you to Eichen house in a box." Propping himself on his side, Jackson looks off in the distance.

He tries to focus on the tail that’s slipped under his shirt and is absently tracing designs on his stomach.

“We both know human life is important to me. I don’t believe you’d go out of your way to avoid human casualties, but I do believe you aren’t a direct threat to them. If you and I ever go bad, I’m not sure if you’d go after my parents or not, but I trust you with them right now. I know that getting you to talk to me about anything important is a joke.”

“I talk to you about important things,” he protests.

“Says the man who was just about to sneak out of bed and who recently tried to cheat on me, because, it was easier than admitting you’re really starting to like me.”

“No. I told you, I wasn’t going to get any sleep, and I didn’t want to keep you up. Or just lay in bed not sleeping. And we hadn’t clearly defined ourselves as monogamous until then. If you remember, you tried to claim you didn’t care if I did sleep with someone else.”

Jackson starts to say something, but he barrels on, “And someone whose issues were so deep a werewolf bite turned them into a kanima- I’d say you don’t talk to me about the important stuff, either. I know you don’t talk to your parents.”

“Before I left Beacon Hills, Morrell recommended a therapist. You know how I always go into Brighton on the sixth of every month? That’s why.”

“Oh. Good for you.”

He’d noticed Jackson did go somewhere every sixth of the month, but he hadn’t paid any special attention to the fact. When he was stalking him, he’d just decided he wasn’t up to following him on an out of city train.

“But I don’t need a therapist.”

“That’s highly debateable, but hey, it’s your life. This isn’t about who does or doesn’t need therapy. I do talk to you about us when the need arises. I do talk to you about my parents and classes and the fact I found out that Gary-”

Smiling, he interjects, “Even if you found a hunter somewhere in his family, first, how, and second, we’re still not waterboarding or throwing your jackass classmate paralysed into the lake.”

Returning the smile, Jackson plays with one of the strands of hair on Ethan's forehead.

“I talk to you about my life.”

Jackson doesn’t verbally respond, and he moves his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the expression on Jackson's face.

He talks to Jackson about the superficial things. Occasionally, more important stuff will come up, but he knows more about what goes on in Jackson’s head than Jackson likely does about what goes on in his. The few times memories of Aiden have become too much, he’s ran or holed up in Deucalion’s closet with blankets over him. Jackson’s always given him space, and provided Jackson never finds out about the curling up in a dark closet, will likely continue to do so.

“Hold me,” he finds himself saying.

When Jackson fully lies down and wraps around him with Jackson’s chin resting on his shoulder, he hates himself for it, but there’s a spike of fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you like this,” Jackson says.

There’s no teasing, no disdain, and no specific emotion of any sort. Pure and simple, it’s a statement of fact.

Taking several deep breaths, he wills himself not to cry.

“Believe me, I know this isn’t a competition. But I’m way more messed up than you are.”

He can acutely feel Jackson’s shrug. “Maybe, someday, you can tell me about it. Not right now, though. Right now,” there’s a repressed yawn, “can we please get to whatever this is really about?”

“I meant it. I can’t really explain why.”

“Fine. Never do something like this again without talking to me first.”

“Okay.”

“Want me to keep holding you?”

“Please.”

Shifting slightly, Jackson says, “If we end up going to York, I’m thinking we should tell my parents…”

They talk until the venom wears off, and when it does, they strip down to their pants and underwear, turn off the lights, and he sighs when Jackson once again puts his arms around him.

…

They stop the pack, but the alpha ends up dying before he can kill her.

When they get something to eat in a small diner, he says, “Aiden and I were closer than most identical twins are.”

Glancing up from his food, Jackson nods.

“If you’re thinking incest, that’s not what I mean. We never did anything like that. Nothing sexual. But we did do things like sleep in the same bed and shower together way past the age of being kids. We never really had any secrets from each other. We were almost always together, and if one of us got hurt, the other would literally feel it. And it probably, okay, definitely, wasn’t healthy, but it kept us alive, and it kept us relatively sane. All the bad stuff we did, most of it was done with a clear head and the knowledge it was wrong. We were cruel, sadistic, occasionally thoughtless, but we weren’t insane.”

“You know that I couldn’t find a small enough box to ship you in to avoid having some anti-human trafficking agency on my ass, right,” is Jackson’s response.

He laughs.  

When he stops, Jackson catches his eyes. “I’m sorry you lost your brother. I never met him, so, I can’t really be sad he’s gone for his sake, but I do get that him being gone hurts you every day, and I’m sorry for that.”

The words don’t hurt the way he thought they would, and in fact, he finds they do help a tiny bit.

“Thank you.” He eats some of his food. “I don’t really understand the issues you have with your biological parents dying when you were a baby, but I know that it hurts you, too. I wish it didn’t, but since it does- for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too.”

Jackson nods.

I’ll never hurt your parents, he thinks but can’t bring himself to say.

…

Deucalion always insisted on having wherever they moved decorated. Back then, he thought him and Aiden didn’t care, but eventually, Jackson’s lack of personal touches to his flat begin to bother him. Deucalion’s place might not be what he’d choose for himself, but at least, it has more than basic, though comfortable, furniture.

“Why would I want a vase?”

Rolling his eyes, he bookmarks the vase. “Fine, but some lamps would be good, right? I’ve found some ones I think you’d really like. Do you want them for your birthday? Or really, I could just buy them.”

He knows Jackson never will. Despite his parents offering to pay rent for him, Jackson is paying with money he got from an insurance settlement from the death of his biological parents, and the only reason he isn’t living in a one-bedroom flat in a cheaper neighbourhood is probably because his parents would constantly hound him if he tried. The only thing Jackson truly has an interest in spending money on is his souped up SUV, and if it weren’t for the fact his tail makes his back itch if it has to stay pressed inside for long, he’d have a sports car instead.    

“Unless you’ve decided to move in, how I decorate or don’t decorate isn’t your concern.”

Finding a nice set of frames, he says, “Yeah, that’d be something. We’d kill each other within the first two days.” He turns the computer. “What about these? You could put pictures of your parents up. Preferably not in here, where I do dirty, some might say, ungodly things to you and let you do them to me, but they’d be touched to see them in the living room the next time they visit.”

Laughing, Jackson kisses him, but to his surprise, he tastes sadness.

“What is it?”

Jackson shakes his head.

Before he can press, Jackson’s laptop dings.

…

Later, he can tell Jackson isn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Touching Jackson’s shoulder, he asks, “Hey, what is it?”

Jackson rolls over. “What made you decide to paralyse yourself that night?”

“I’ve told you I don’t-”

“You don’t really know why you did it. But it wasn’t just a random impulse, was it?”

He considers the question. “I guess not. We were going to fight a feral pack, and the question of how much we trusted each other- I guess that’ll always be there, but that night made it a little clearer.”

Sighing, Jackson rolls onto his back. “Don’t turn on the lights.”

“Okay?”

Then, he smells blood and venom.

Sitting up, he pulls the covers off Jackson, and his wolf eyes show five marks on Jackson’s stomach along with Jackson’s still clawed hand lying above them.

“This might hurt a little. And I don’t even know if it’ll work.” Carefully taking the hand, he presses a claw into the centre of the palm. Jackson lets out a small sound, but disturbingly, his body doesn’t tense, shake, or show any movement at all.

The claws, however, do retract.

He does it with the other hand, and getting some tissues, he wipes the blood away and is relieved to see the wounds have healed. “Why?”

Despite the lack of visual shrugging, he can almost see it. “We found out you could trust me while you were paralysed. Let’s see if I can trust you.”

It hurts a little, hearing this. The thought of hurting Jackson-

Well, he can’t leave. Knowing both of their luck, someone or something would break in if he did.

“Do you want the covers back up?”

“Yeah.”

Covering Jackson, he gets underneath, too, and finds himself lying on his side with his arms around Jackson. “This alright?”

“Good,” Jackson answers.

Propping his cheek against Jackson’s shoulder, he takes in the smell.

Before he can fully think, he presses his nose against Jackson’s neck, and when he’s had his fill, rubs against the neck before settling back onto the shoulder.

A small laugh emits from Jackson, and he realises he never detected any fear or even confusion.

“Little bit ticklish,” Jackson says.

“The first bad thing I remember doing was…”

He’s had to confess to things before, but he never willingly laid out his misdeeds and the things worse than misdeeds before. The closest he ever got was when he and Aiden occasionally talked about stuff they’d done.

When he’s done, the sun’s starting to peek through the blinds, and everything inside him is almost unbearably prickly.

Jackson puts a hand on his neck, and shuddering, he wonders how long Jackson has been unparalysed.

“Hey.”

Despite his terror, he forces himself to look into Jackson’s eyes, and he finds his heart beating even faster.

He doesn’t think Jackson’s ever given him such a soft look, and his whole body slumps in response to it.

When Jackson kisses his head, he asks, “Feel any different towards me?”

“Yeah. I guess we’re both a little stupid. Here I am, liking and trusting you, and here you are, practically in love with me.”

Laughing, he scoffs. “Keep dreaming.”

There’s a warmth in his chest, though, at the words. Jackson’s vitals didn’t change at all on the word ‘trust’.

Getting his phone, Jackson types. “We both need some sleep. Let’s take the day off from everything.”

“Sounds good.”

They both turn away from the sun, and he closes his eyes when Jackson’s arms and tail wrap around him. “Y’know, if you’d just look at some of the curtains I’ve found-”

“Here’s the deal: When you move in, you can decorate however you want, but try to keep me out of it as much as possible. I thought one of the good things about dating a guy would be that there’d be no nagging on that front, but no, of course not.”

“I’m not nagging, and who said anything about moving in?”

Kissing his neck, Jackson answers, “I did, yesterday. Maybe it’s not something you’re ready for right now, but you will be.”

“Oh, yeah? What happens then?”

“We’ll both be even happier.”

…

He moves in, and much to Jackson’s flabbergasted irritation, it’s revealed his parents have known for ages they weren’t just best friends. They’re happy, and he’s happy they’re happy, but he does find it hard to go along with Mr Whittemore’s threats of what will be done if Ethan hurts his son. Instead of laughing, scoffing, and/or outing them as a werewolf and werewolf-kanima hybrid, however, he keeps a serious expression on, nods politely, and sincerely tells Mr Whittemore how much Jackson means to him and promises that he’ll always try to protect him.

It turns out Mrs Whittemore is great to talk to about decoration.

…

There are times he thinks someone in the alpha pack should have killed Scott McCall when they all had the chance.

It’s not Scott’s fault there’s a new anti-supernatural crusader in Beacon Hills, and it’s not Scott’s fault Jackson feels compelled to help Derek out by starting to track down omegas and sympathetic hunters in England.

He knows all this, but having had to suffer through Scott’s goody-goody determination to save everyone so many times in combination with the fact, unlike with Derek, he never killed anyone truly important to Scott, he finds it easiest to curse his name when Jackson stumbles home with a three-inch, wolfsbane infused cut.

“I’ll be fine,” Jackson grits out.

Linking his fingers through Jackson’s, he applies the poultice with the other. “Hey! Don’t pass out. We have dinner with your parents tonight. After last week, we can’t cancel again so soon. Stay awake. If we need to, we can play this off as you having a bug and leave a few minutes after we get there, but we need to show up.”

Last week, they let the Whittemore’s think they lost track of time due to bedroom-related activities.

Oh, how he wishes this had actually been the case.    

The cut heals, and Jackson lets out a shaky breath. “Help me shower.”

He does, and by the time they’re dressed, Jackson’s back at full strength.

“You could have died. I’ll play nice with your parents, but tomorrow, be prepared. We’re going to talk more about your selfish, idiotic tendency to do things like this without even texting me. A lot more.”

“I knew you’d insist on coming. Like it or not, I am stronger than you, and I’m harder to kill.”

“Good for you. You don’t get to take my choice in the matter away.”   

“Your entire life has been a series of nothing but bad choices.”

“Yeah, and I’m starting to think my choice in boyfriend applies.”

They get to the Whittemore’s, and sighing, he leans over and kisses Jackson’s cheek. “But missing out on your mom’s pie would definitely be an even worse one.”

…

Conversation at dinner somehow ends up on the topic of how Jackson’s nursery was decorated.

“Of course, David was always afraid we’d accidentally crush Jackson, but I insisted we co-sleep. I don’t know whether he just didn’t like the nursery or just needed us.”

“Probably the former,” Mr Whittemore says. “I can admit, my fears were baseless. Nothing could hurt our boy.”

Jackson smiles through his mouthful of food, but he can tell there’s a lot going on inside at the words.

Worryingly, however, he can’t pinpoint what exactly.

It goes on through the night, they talk about Jackson’s childhood, Jackson is quietly reflective, and he tries his best to make sure nothing seems off.

After dinner, Jackson insists on helping clear the table, and he and Mr Whittemore pack up the leftovers.

He hears, “Are you sure you and Ethan have enough blankets, sweetheart? It’s supposed to drop below zero tonight. We have plenty of extras you can take with you.”

“We’re fine, Mom. We have plenty of blankets, and we keep the thermostat up.”

“Good, but if you do need more, promise you’ll call. Your dad or I will bring you some.”

“I promise.” Kissing her cheek, he adds, “I love you, Mom.”

Almost reeling at how the words affect her, he digs his phone out.

Coming in and hugging Mr Whittemore, Jackson says, “We’d better be going. I love you, Dad.”

Mrs Whittemore hurries in, Ethan’s phone dings, and blocking Jackson from getting out the door and managing to avoid claws, he says, “Sorry, but you’ll need to go without me. I have somewhere I need to be.”

Seizing the opportunity, the Whittemore's hurriedly send him away in the car.

…

In the morning, an emotionally raw Jackson slides into bed.

“Gonna kill me?”

“Not right now.”

Kissing him, he pulls Jackson against him. “Talk all night?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good?”

There’s an exhausted chuckle. “Yeah. I should have- I know it’s pointless to dwell on the past, but nine-year-old me should be shot. Even after all this-” He shakes his head.

“Of course. They’re your parents. And we both know they aren’t dwelling on the past.”

Jackson looks up. “I love you, too.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes out. “I was afraid it was getting to the point where I’d have to tell you that, if you had any decency, you need to let me go. Being in love with someone who doesn’t love you, being theirs in such a way-” He kisses him. “I love you, too.”

Adjusting his position, Jackson quietly says, “You might still want to take that option. Every time Derek emails, things are getting worse and worse. If I could find some way to blame Scott McCall for this- I don’t want to fight, and in all honesty, I think everyone who is, is an idiot, me included. But people like Gerard and his newest protégé, human or supernatural, they need to be stopped. It’s not just people targeted affected.”

“It’s not nice to call your boyfriend an idiot,” he says. Putting his hand on Jackson’s neck, he adds, “When it was me and Aiden, running and occasionally killing were our only options. You’ve given me someone to fight for, and I’m part of what you’re fighting for. Just, please, stop thinking you have the right to keep me out of the loop. My eyes are wide open. I know this could end badly for both of us. But I get to decide which options I take and don’t take, and I’m taking the one that involves helping you end this fighting as soon as possible so that we can grow old and one day kill each other in bed.”

Jackson laughs. “You sure?”

“When it comes to me talking, you’re pretty good at listening.”

This earns him a kiss.

…

Deucalion falls, and aside from the hurt, he hopes Deucalion died proud of the wolf Deucalion was.

They get the hunters out of Beacon Hills, but the numbers keep growing in other places.

“I need to tell my parents,” Jackson sighs.

“Want me there?”

“You don’t think this is an incredibly bad idea?”

He shrugs. “I think, if you tell them about some of the things I’ve done, they’ll definitely revoke their blessing of our relationship. When it comes to you and even everything you’ve done, though, no.”

“What if-” Jackson pauses.

“What if what?”

“What if you’re right-”

“I am.”

“But they insist on trying to get involved in all this?”

“I’m worried about that, too,” he admits. “What are the UK’s gun laws? Your dad, he’d just be a minor nuisance to them, throwing the law at them every way he can, but you can only stand in front of your shotgun-wielding mother for so long before you have to move, and once you do, it’ll be aimed.”

Making a face, Jackson insists, “Mom wouldn’t-”

“Remember when we found out your parents knew about us? Your dad told me all about how her great-grandmother was a sharp shooter in the Wild West and how her grandmother taught her how to use a shotgun and BB gun on their farm. He then made it very clear that, if I ever hurt you, he’d find a way to legally put a shotgun in her hands and make sure that she was never so much as questioned, let alone arrested or charged.”

“Mom’s never hurt anyone in her life. And most of the people after us are humans.”

“Trust me, that doesn’t matter. They come after her son, they’ll be staring down the barrel, and if she fires, bet you anything her heartbeat will be completely steady.”

Shaking his head, Jackson looks out the window.

Looking at him, Ethan imagines Aiden saying, _This wouldn’t have happened if I were still around_.

It probably wouldn’t, but he’d like to believe it still would have, somehow.

I’ll keep missing you until the day I die, and hopefully, get to see you again, but I can’t focus on that right, now, he sends the message out to his brother.

Getting up, he goes over and wraps around Jackson.


End file.
